


Love in holding on

by hopelessbookgeek



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aftercare, F/M, Implied Past Trauma, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: York might finally be ready to have sex with Carolina, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy. She tries to help in any way she can, but it doesn't always come out right. They make it work anyway.





	Love in holding on

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Throw Away the Key](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826939) by [Legendaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie). 



> Hey so if y'all haven't read the fic this is inspired by (and you should, it's amazing), York was sexually assaulted in the past and struggles with physical intimacy because of that. It's not mentioned directly in this fic but could potentially be triggering anyway, so please continue at your discretion.

Neither of them really liked horror movies, so Carolina could not exactly explain what had prompted this pre-Halloween marathon. Maybe because the category was so prominently displayed on the Netflix home screen? Maybe it was because York clutched her hand just a bit tighter at every jump scare, no matter how stupidly obvious it was. And God, they were _stupidly obvious_ at this point.

But there they were, relaxing on her couch on a chilly October night, and he was off tomorrow and she didn’t have to be until noon so they could have a beer and watch _Paranormal Activity 4._

“I think that was the worst one yet,” Carolina said, stealing an M&M from York’s bowl. He didn’t even swat her away this time, recognizing it was fruitless. “And they probably only get worse from here, huh?”

For a moment York said nothing and Carolina wondered if, finally, she’d found the limit of movies too awful for York to sit through without dumping her. “I think I’m ready,” he said.

“For the next one? I don’t know, it looked _rough_ , I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Oh, hell no, I can’t handle that tonight. I mean for sex.”

Carolina choked on her candy and had to take a sip of beer to wash it down. “Have you been waiting the whole movie to say that?”

“No, but I’ve been thinking about it, and… I want to.”

She sat up and looked at him. He couldn’t quite meet her eye, the surest sign that he was nervous, but he didn’t look unhappy or untruthful. York’s pain was kind of like learning a new word: once you recognized it, you started seeing it everywhere, and Carolina knew by now that York wore pain better than anyone else she knew.

Probably he’d just had practice bearing it alone. That didn’t actually make her feel better about it.

And she loved him, she liked being with him and she trusted him and she wanted him in every sense of the word, but it was the sort of thing she put aside in her mind, kept in the same unreachable box as the memories of her mother and a shattered visor in a ditch. There wasn’t anyone who could look at York and not want him, the warm olive cast to his skin and the soft way he smiled when he thought no one was looking. No one could hear him laugh and not want to make him laugh again, and no one could see him hurting and not want to do anything in their power not to hurt him anymore.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I don’t want you to think you have to–”

“I know, and that’s why I want to say yes. I’m nervous,” he admitted, and rubbed his arm like a child being scolded. “I don’t– I don’t know how it’ll feel. But I trust you and I’m never gonna know… right?”

She only barely followed that train of thought, only barely knew what he was asking of her, and for a moment the most tired, selfish part of her wanted to turn away, to deny the burden of all that fear and trust. But York had carried it all alone for long enough and to be on the receiving end of that much trust was an honor as much as anything else. She was the kind of kid that made a shoebox-bed for a robin that flew into the window and moved worms off the sidewalk after it rained. It wasn’t a matter of responsibility but of empathy.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, and his mouth flattened into a line. “I don’t– I just don’t want to be something you regret, or worse…”

“Figures,” he said, and she didn’t like or even recognize the click in the back of his throat. “Figures.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she said, and damn, no one had ever accused her of being even-tempered but this was the worst time– “I just want to do this right!”

“No, you don’t,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry but tired and that should have made her double-think, should have slowed her down and made her ask _why_ , but–

“I do! This isn’t easy, I know it isn’t easy on either of us and I don’t want the burden–”

Wrong word, wrong word, and York didn’t have the kind of temper that snapped to attention like her own rubber-band humors so he just shrank back like she’d slapped him. Or rather, like he would have preferred her to slap him.

“I should go,” he said, sad, sad, sad. “I know you’ve got work tomorrow.” He got up and stuffed his hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the kind of kangaroo pocket that let him hold his own hands. _Someone has to do it_ , he said once with a laugh. Didn’t seem very funny, now. “I’ll uh… see you.”

“Wait– York, I didn’t–”

“It’s alright.” His gaze flickered to the door. “Better head out.”

“Lemme give you a ride–”

“South can do it,” he said, and didn’t even say goodbye.

Her instincts told her to follow him, to apologize, to explain what she meant and explain her hesitations and explain her genetically bad temperament, but she loved him enough to not want to make him talk to her for longer than he had to. For longer than he wanted to.

So she… didn’t. There is love in holding on and there is love in letting go, she’d heard once, and that was maybe melodramatic for a couple’s fight but she couldn’t fathom what it had to be like to carry pain like that and maybe– maybe that would be his limit with this, with _her_. Maybe this was a last straw, or egregious enough, or–

That line of thought was a waste of time, it was only going to make her anxious instead of helping her figure out what to do, but there’s a kind of empathy in taking a minute to feel awful for saying an awful thing, even if it was just because her mouth was a lot faster than her brain and she’d never been good with words besides.

She turned Netflix off, emptied the beer bottles in the sink and tossed them in the recycling, stared at the abandoned bowl of M&Ms for a minute. She’d been stealing them all night but the thought of taking anymore now made her sick, so she poured them into a Ziploc bag and put it safely in the cabinet, out of sight but ready. Just in case.

Cleaning up was a kind of catharsis, but there just wasn’t much to do; she’d done most of it earlier, so her place would look good enough for York to come over. Not that he’d care, he slept on a grease-stained couch at the garage more often than not, but it mattered to _her_. It did at the time, anyway.

Usually playing with the birds was relaxing enough but both of them were asleep, cuddled up together, and she couldn’t bring herself to bother them. She tiptoed through her bedtime routine and tried calling York when she got into bed, but he didn’t pick up. She left him a message. She didn’t expect him to listen to it.

So she tried to sleep, but that didn’t go so well either. Sometimes she managed to doze, but usually not, and around eleven she just texted him.

_~ I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. Can I explain?_

She didn’t expect she’d get a reply to that either, but in twenty minutes she did.

_\-- I told you bc I trust you and love you. It’s so hard to feel like I’m disappointing you_

_~ You aren’t, ever. If I call will you pick up?_

He didn’t answer that but she called, and just when it was about to ring through, he answered. “Oh thank God,” she said, and sat up to sit cross-legged with her back against her headboard. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

It was quiet on the other end and she pulled the phone away from her ear to check that she hadn’t hung up by mistake. “ _I’m trying so hard_ ,” he said finally, softly, and her heart was pounding so hard against her ribs she felt the physical ache.

“I know, York, I know, and I’m so glad you trusted me and so proud of you–”

“ _But I’m a burden.”_

“No– no. You’re not. It’s– I meant– the burden is yours, the– the weight of what happened to you, I guess. I can’t imagine how it feels to carry that, but I didn’t mean that _you_ are–” She swallowed, sighed, closed her eyes and rubbed them until stars burst behind her lids. “And when I said it’s hard on me I just meant it’s hard to see you scared and upset, not– not that I think of your pain as a _problem_ for me.”

Quiet again and her bedroom was well-insulated but she shivered. “ _You’re not very good with words_ ,” said York, and the laugh that burst out of her was shaky but genuine.

“I’m really not, but it’s– I’m being honest, I swear.”

“ _Thanks. I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t say that to me.”_

“Not your fault,” she said immediately. “I said it really… bad.”

He hummed but didn’t speak and it made her wonder… “Y’know,” she said, “and I’m not saying now, but… would it be easier to start, like… over the phone? Where you could hang up easily if things got too uncomfortable?”

Another hum. “ _Never really thought about it. I don’t really know what that would be like. Got an example?”_ Ah, she could hear it, she could hear the faintest touch of laughter in his voice, the tease. York wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, not like her.

“Well…” She tried to think how to start, what he might like to hear, what wouldn’t be too much or too obscene. “I’d probably say that if you were here, I’d finally tell you that you have an absolutely _stellar_ body and a _fantastic_ ass, like some kinda pin-up model or something.”

_“You think I have a nice ass?”_

“You could bounce a nickel off it, so. Yeah. I do. Has no one said that to you recently?”

_“My ass usually isn’t the part of my body people notice first. I never have to say ‘my eyes are up here’ anymore.”_

Fuck. She winced. “Well, I’d be a bit more comprehensive. Catch you just outta work, and you look so good in those tight tanks I can’t decide if I’d like you better in them or out of them. The jeans would definitely come off, though, and I could run my hands up your thighs…”

He paused. _“I don’t… this isn’t really doing it for me.”_

“Sorry,” she said right away.

“ _No, it’s not– it just feels… impersonal, I guess. I’d rather it be in person.”_

“No problem,” she said, and meant it. “When do you wanna give it a try?”

_“What about… now?”_

“Now!” Her eyes flew open. “Now?”

_“If it’s a really bad time–”_

“No, it just… surprised me.” She didn’t have work until noon… and this definitely wouldn’t be a ‘go all night’ sort of thing anyway...her options were either sex with York or lying awake thinking about sex with York. “Are you at home or at the shop?”

_“Home… South never lets me sleep at the garage.”_ South was a good friend, no matter how gently annoyed that seemed to make York. _“But Wash is at Tucker’s.”_

There was no harm in just going over, right? If he seemed like he was still in a bad way she could happily fall asleep in his arms, or even come straight home. She’d keep a close eye on him. The second he seemed cagey or upset she’d stop, leave if he wanted. She’d be good to him. “I can be over in fifteen.”

There wasn’t time for a shower so she just yanked her hair into a ponytail and changed quickly back into the sweater and leggings she’d been wearing earlier. Ideally she could show up in something pretty, black lace maybe, but that might be coming on a little too strong. Besides, York had seen her looking a lot worse than this. She stuck two condoms and a bottle of lube in her purse.

She refused to be a hypocrite and drive above the speed limit just to get to York faster but that didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted. She was only human, after all.

Her fist barely rapped the door before York pulled it open and greeted her with a hug. “Oh,” she said, and hugged back.

“You’re here,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes– yes,” and she barely managed to get the word out before his hands came up to cup her face and his mouth was on hers, hot and wet and desperate. York kissed like he didn’t think he’d ever get to kiss her again and so she kissed him back in a way that let him know that he’d be able to do it again and again and again.

“How– how do you want–” she tried to ask between kisses but he was insistent. “York. York.” She put a hand on his chest and held him off for a minute. “How do you want to do it?”

“I just want–” God, there was this look on his face, an almost palpable relief that she would ask, that she cared enough to ask. “Just let me… feel in control? It isn’t a domination thing! But I want…”

“Okay,” she said, and he took her by the hand and nearly dragged her into the bedroom. Someday, she figured, she’d get him on the couch and in the back of her car and maybe, God help her, in the garage, but for the moment it was nice to take him to bed like it was prom night. “Lemme know if any of this is too much, it’s supposed to be fun.”

“Then let’s have some fun,” he said, and kissed her again, teeth catching her lower lip in a way she thought might have been accidental. He reached out and blindly fumbled for the light switch and clicked it off, and the darkness made it considerably more intimate and Carolina tried to relax, tried to just get into it, but she was nosy and meddling and _loved him_ and had to know he was alright–

Her hands dropped to them hem of his shirt and she was careful to ask. “Can I?”

“Let me,” he said, and all she’d meant to do was stroke circles against his tight stomach but he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. She’d seen him shirtless before, a beach day with the Dakotas over the summer, a sweat-soaked August afternoon at the garage, but here, like this… “You can touch, just… gentle.”

Gentle. She could be gentle. She preferred teeth and nails and bruises but then, York was softer and warmer than his callused hands would imply. She rubbed his biceps up to his shoulders and back down, around to his back and then his chest, his pecs and his fantastic abs. “Gorgeous,” she murmured, and he soaked up the praise. “Gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous,” he echoed, and cupped her jaw. His other hand didn’t hesitate to slip under her sweater, and his hand so warm against her skin made her sigh. “Can I… with you?”

“Can you what with me?”

“Y’know. Touch you, look– look at you.”

God, she would really surprise people telling them that confident, flirtatious, James-Dean-wannabe York blushed and stammered in bed, awkward even asking to touch her. “Of course,” she said, and shucked her sweater off. “I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” he repeated firmly, and got his hands on her. She wasn’t wearing a particularly nice bra, didn’t think anyone else would be seeing it, but if the plain grey cotton disappointed him he gave no sign of it. “I was wondering,” he said, broad hand tracing his initials against her ribcage, “if the freckles on your shoulders went all the way down.” He bent and kissed a faint constellation of them, and then kept kissing down, over her collarbone, her sternum, down towards her navel.

“You’ve been thinking about getting my shirt off?”

She meant it as a tease but the intensity in his good eye was anything but joking. “Yes,” he said, voice pitched a little lower, and she sighed in response. “Your shirt and all the rest of it.”

“Then I’ll get all the rest of it off,” she said, and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her leggings. Truth be told she’d rather have him strip her down, but if she got her clothes then he could get his own, and she thought that might make him feel better.

She was naked first– his belt seemed to be giving him trouble– so she plucked the condoms and lube from her bag and set them on the nightstand, relaxing in bed and waiting. When he finally kicked his jeans off he got up on top of her and kissed her deep, his tongue flicking behind her teeth right away.

York radiated heat and there was something so comfortable about being underneath him, and it was so _nice_ to kiss him like this, deep and full and honest… but his hips bumped up against hers and she could tell–

“Everything okay?” she asked, struggling to tamp down the urge to kiss him sharp and fierce again and again until he was aching for her.

He flushed, and she couldn’t see it in the darkness but he dropped his face against her neck and she could feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her skin. “It’s not that I don’t think– that I don’t want–”

“I know, I know. D’you wanna stop?”

“I can _do_ this,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “I can do this, I want to do this.”

She leaned in close to his ear, her hands pressed to his shoulder blades and her thighs on either side of his narrow hips. “Tell me what you need,” she said, and he shivered.

“Just– talk to me, tell me you want–” _Want me_ , he couldn’t bring himself to say, and she wasn’t about to lie to him now, like this.

“I want you,” she whispered, and he shuddered again. “You’re so gorgeous, York, so beautiful, the handsomest man I know. You’re so good, you’re doing so good, I love you, love how much you trust me.” It wasn’t the type of dirty talk she was particularly used to, but it seemed to make him happy and she wondered how many people had told him how good-looking he was ever since he lost his eye. She hoped it was more than just her.

“I wanted you ever since the first time you kissed me, did you know that? And one of the first times we met, when you unlocked my car, I wanted you to kiss me so bad.”

“In the rain?” he asked, and rolled his hips a little. He was more than half hard now, and she slid her hand very slowly down her stomach so he had time to tell her to stop before she very lightly touched his cock. He gasped and a groan caught in the back of his throat, and pre-come was slick on her fingertips as she rubbed the head.

“In the rain, in front of North and South, in your shop. Anywhere. I just wanted you to kiss me.”

“Should I kiss you now?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed, and he did, he kissed her sweet and warm and lovely, and his cock was aching in her hand. “Condom on the nightstand. How do you wanna do this?”

“Just–” He fumbled with the foil packet a little, but not too much. “Me on top, if you don’t– don’t mind.”

Ah, that was fine, easy and relaxed and as long as it made him happy… He sat back on his heels between her knees and looked her over with soft eyes, trailing her hands from her knees up her thighs, over her hips and up to her breasts and then back down. He had gorgeous hands, long clever fingers and broad callused palms, and when they passed over her sensitive nipples her back arched a little. “Lovely,” he said, and his brows furrowed a little in his concentrated way as he dipped his hand between her legs, rubbed her clit a few times to be sure she was ready. Hopefully the strangled moan she let out gave him the answer.

“Ready?” he asked, and she felt like maybe she should be the one asking that but she knew he wouldn’t have asked unless he was, so she nodded and helped him guide himself in.

_Fuck_ but it felt good. It had been a while and her hands were never the same, none of it felt the same at all, and York looked so damn eager to please… she took his hand and on impulse brought it to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles. When he was fully inside he paused.

“Doing okay?” she asked.

“Doing okay,” he confirmed, and almost laughed a little. “Just… don’t wanna be a minute man.”

She laughed too to show him it was alright. “You’re doing great, York. Feels so good.”

He hummed and she wondered if it was more than the self-esteem, if the praise was some sort of kink for him. She’d think about it later because he pulled almost all the way out and then sunk slowly back in and she just couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her world narrowed to the points of connectivity, the stars in their constellation: her knees hooked around his hips, his hands at her waist, her own hands at his shoulders.

It wasn’t the kind of sex she’d call _fucking_ , really, and _making love_ was an obnoxiously flowery term that nevertheless came closest. York kept up a steady rhythm and she mumbled praise at him the whole time, his speed and her volume both building slowly, and when she dipped her hand down to rub her clit he didn’t bat her away with a _let me_.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “York, God, York, I love you–”

“Carolina–”

“York, _York_ , I’m gonna–”

“Me too, Carolina, I love you–”

She came first but only barely, and when she tightened up around him, he only managed a few more faltering thrusts before he came too. He caught his breath for a beat, two, five, and then he got up on unsteady legs to throw the condom out and clean up. Carolina relaxed boneless against his pillows to wait for his return. The muscles in her thighs were still jumping and her hands were shaking.

When he came back he had that same fragile, nervous expression, and the thing she remembered most intensely about rough sex was that the afterglow can make or break it; if she was cold or inattentive or just left, it would shatter him, but if she welcomed him back with open arms and a dozen kisses…

So she lay on her side to make space for him beside her and when he settled in, she gave him a handful of kisses across his cheeks, jaw, chest. “That was so good,” she said, in the voice she used to soothe the birds in a thunderstorm. “You did so good.”

Sure enough he smiled a little more confidently. “It was okay? I didn’t… disappoint?”

“No. Never. You are…” She dragged her fingertips down his chest, playing along his happy trail. “You are so gorgeous, and you wanted to make it good for me… and it _was_ good for me. Don’t worry. Did I– did I make it good for you?”

He huffed out a breath. “Yes– yes. It’s not…” He looked away. “Not always gonna be… like this. It’s not… linear, I guess, like that. But tonight– tonight it was good.”

“Tonight,” she said, “is all that matters. Worry about tomorrow when it’s tomorrow, okay?” Kind of ironic coming from her, she figured, but he looked like he needed to hear it. “Wish I could stay all night, but…”

“Work calls,” he said with a smile, eyes slipping closed. “That’s fine. You love your job more than me.”

“My job lets me use a Taser. You don’t.”

He laughed and she leaned over, kissed him on both cheeks and then his mouth. “I love you, Carolina. Thank you.”


End file.
